What am I doing with my life? I questioned as the dishwasher was burning up my naked back.
My name is Chester and I have been a dwarf ‘entertainer’ for 6 years… it was supposed to be a stepping stone but like so many before me I’d been lured in by the easy money. The financial security came with a price however; dignity. How many more pies to the face would I have to endure? How much more forced laughter would I have to put on?
Stuck inside the darkness of the kitchen appliance a hatred burned deep inside me, hotter than the scalding water. The drunk customers were the worst, hence his current predicament.
What would I do when I was finally released from this watery prison? Kick their shins and waddle off in a temper!
Brilliant, that’ll show them.
But a sudden feeling of dread filled me. I pictured the scene it would create. What a stereotype that would be, something out of those stupid fucking films, I doubt they would ever think I was legitimately angry just part of the act.
Act. I had wanted to be an actor, but where would that lead a remake of Wizard of Oz or a part as an Oompa-Loompa. Even if I could find some serious gig as an actor, like that Game of Thrones prick I’ll just be known as “the serious dwarf actor”, actually no I would be “the second serious dwarf actor” part of an overall movement which would be broadcast by Fox News, CNN and fuck knows who else.
I was born just to be a jester. A laughing stock to the Lords and Ladies all through history and for all eternity.
What was the point of living like this? Chester was too angry to go out without a bang. I remembered the hunting shotgun hanging on the wall as I was being swung around by the feet. Could climb up the cabinet, and blow them all away with that big fucking gun.
Big fuckin’ gun. A dwarf with a big fuckin’ gun…
Shit shit shit, it would look ridiculous. Another stereotype. I would kill them with laughter long before I had fired the shotgun. The world treated me as a laughing stock just because of my size.
“I am still human,” I would say to myself over and over during the tumultuous time in school.
“Make lemonade when the world gives you lemons, Chester” his mother would tell him.
So that’s what I did and highschool wasn’t as bad, I played along. They were still laughing, but laughing with me not at me.
The feeling of animosity and hatred were still present.
The world had done him a wrong. What did I owe anybody?
“People only respect power,” I thought to himself.
“I take this world and destroy it. I know I’m smart enough, I’ve been called a genius even!”
A dwarf a evil genius with a plan to take over the world. What the fuck, that sounds like a Mike Myers movie.
I’m a stereotype whatever I do. I take up professional poker I’ll be that “dwarf poker player” or if I take up ball room dancing I’ll be the “dwarf dancer”. And people will fawn, ooo and ahhh, “Oh good for him, he’s really trying even though…”
Even though fucking what? I don’t know… I need to just-
Then it came to me, a beautiful idea. You know the feeling when you get that perfect thought unique, utterly yours, entertaining and growing as you add more and more to it.
They didn’t have to know that I was a dwarf. It wasn’t hiding who I was, it was the opposite it was a way to truly express myself.
It was writing. When had there been a comedy film about a dwarf writer? Never. It’s perfect. No stereotypes.
Chester Ross was going to show the world what he was truly capable of. I’d need a pen name first.
Beep. Beep. Beep. It looked like the eco-wash cycle was finished. The doors opened and I stepped out a new man, laughter greeted me but I just continued walking, and walked straight out of the house.
I laughed as well, but not with them.
Hi guys, this story is actually very personal for me. It’s not strictly true but it comes from very similar experiences and a special place within me. I was born with achondroplasia dwarfism and have had to deal and live with the lifestyle that has come with it, if I didn’t have writing novels in my life I wouldn’t be able to express myself. To be completely honest I hated the world for a long period in my life. I was angry… really angry, I had been dealt a bad hand in this universal game of life, but writing novels and short stories allowed me to change this. Without you guys, and I mean YOU reading this and my other books I would still feel alone and I am eternally grateful for this.
And for the record, I have never been in a dishwasher (a washing machine is another story though!).
P.S. No offence to Peter Dinklage, he’s a bloody legend!